


Fake It Until You… Well, Don’t Have to Anymore

by oyhumbug



Series: Mutually Assured.... [2]
Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: 1x04, Blutbad, Deception, F/M, Flirting, Friendship, Grimm - Freeform, Hexenbiest, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lonelyhearts, Murder, Partnership, Supernatural - Freeform, Trust, Wesen, Ziegevolks, alternative history, episode rewrite, season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23916196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oyhumbug/pseuds/oyhumbug
Summary: Needing evidence on a suspect but not having any probable cause, Nick decides to go undercover to further investigate Billy Capra. But he's not going in alone. He can't. Because, for his cover, he needs a girlfriend - a soon to be fiancee, so he calls in just one of his many, many chips with a new... friend.
Relationships: Nick Burkhardt & Hank Griffin, Nick Burkhardt & Monroe, Nick Burkhardt/Adalind Schade, Nick Burkhardt/Juliette Silverton
Series: Mutually Assured.... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1320599
Comments: 56
Kudos: 116





	1. Parts I, II, III

**Fake It Until You… Well, Don’t Have to Anymore**

**I.**

He was officially a bad cop.  
  
It had taken less than a month, but Nick Burkhardt was targeting specific individuals based on observed characteristics. Wesen characteristics. He was profiling suspects… and not in a good way.  
  
But Nick felt like his actions were, if not justified, then at least understandable. After all, since finding out that he was a Grimm, he had dispatched a Reaper… which Nick believed to have been a Hässlich; been attacked by and partnered with a Hexenbiest; befriended, at least according to Nick, a vegetarian Blutbad and fought a very _not_ vegetarian Blutbad, one that Hank ended up having to shoot; tangled with what seemed like an entire clan of Jägerbars; and battled _killer bees_ also known as Mellifers. When it came to wesen friend versus foe, the odds weren’t in his favor. So, that’s why, as soon as Nick watched the owner of the Bed and Breakfast woge, he knew he had found his man. Maybe he didn’t know - _yet_ \- what type of wesen Billy Capra was, but he knew he was responsible for Faith Collins’ murder, one way or another. Now, he just needed to prove it… and in a way that would be accepted in a court of law.  
  
They were about to leave, and Nick was anxious to both get Hank, who, in his opinion, had been acting strangely around their suspect, away and to do some research… of the Grimm variety, but, first, he had a thought. Actually, to call it a thought was generous. He had an… instinct kick up and make him take notice.  
  
Spinning around on the heels of his boots, Nick aimed for casual when he asked, “so, what portion of your business comes from couples who are getting engaged?” Hank flashed him a wary, nonplussed look, but he remained silent, allowing Nick to see his query through… whatever his reason for asking it. Meanwhile, Capra just looked between the two detectives, brows raised in curiosity, a smug smirk upon his face. To clarify, Nick added, “earlier, you mentioned that about a third of your business comes from newlyweds. I just wondered…?”  
  
“He recently bought a ring,” Hank supplied, his bemusement morphing into mirth at Nick’s expense. Although he wasn’t sure what caused the change in his partner, Nick did appreciate the help in putting their suspect at ease. Capra was no more concerned or nervous around them than he had been with the couple checking out of the B&B when Nick and Hank had first arrived. “And when I say recently, I mean a month ago. Somebody can’t figure out how to propose.”  
  
“While I’ve never been married myself, the proposal seems like it would be the easiest part.”  
  
“Trust me,” Hank snorted a laugh - one at his own expense, though Capra didn’t know that. “It is.”  
  
“We don’t get as many engagements as we get honeymoons, but we offer a lovely engagement package nonetheless. The details are on our website… if you’re interested, Detective.”  
  
Nick offered him a tight, empty smile and a nod before walking away, Hank trailing after him. As they left the garden, his partner scoring their steps with a recitation of the various ways he had proposed in the past, Nick tuned out. His instinct _had_ become a thought, and now he had laid the groundwork for that thought to become a plan. Asking Capra about couples coming to the Bramble House to get engaged had nothing to do with Nick’s relationship with Juliette but everything to do with preparing Capra for Nick’s presence at the B&B for a reason other than professional, conditioning the suspect to treat him like any other paying customer rather than a nosy detective. If he was a guest, then he wouldn’t need a warrant to look around. Given that they had absolutely no probable cause to search the Bramble House, Nick needed a way to investigate the wesen owner without going through the proper, legal channels. He knew _how_ to accomplish that; now, he just needed a cover story _and_ a would-be fiancée. Luckily, he knew a couple of… people. 

**II.**

Monroe wanted him to leave. Hell, he had not wanted Nick to stop by _uninvited_ in the first place. But he let him in anyway, and he told him what he could about Ziegevolks, and now it was obvious that Nick had overstayed what very little welcome he had been shown. Monroe was holding his cello once again, and he was ignoring a still ruminating Nick - the clearest of all clear signs that it was time for the Grimm to go home. Instead, he decided to push his luck.  
  
“I need a favor.”  
  
Monroe froze, bow poised over the strings of his instrument but stagnant. Looking up from under his heavy brows, the Blutbad queried, “and what exactly do you call the last five minutes?”  
  
“Okay. Fine. I need _another_ favor.” Although he didn’t look inclined to grant him a boon, Monroe did remain impatiently quiet, so Nick pressed forth. He figured his chances of getting what he wanted would only improve with the speed in which he asked. “I need you to book me a room at the Bramble House under your name and with your credit card. I’ll pay you back, of course,” he rushed to add before such a complaint or objection could be made.  
  
“Just… use your own, man.”  
  
“I can’t,” Nick stated. At Monroe’s disbelieving look, he explained, “I don’t want it getting traced back to me. If the Ziegevolk says I was there as a guest, it’ll be his word against mine. I don’t like lying, especially not about a case, but it’s better than doing nothing and another woman getting kidnapped and raped. Or worse. And I can’t use Juliette’s credit card, because….”  
  
“Wait,” Monroe interrupted him, holding up the hand with the bow in it. “Who’s Juliette?”  
  
“She’s my girlfriend.”  
  
“You have a girlfriend?”  
  
“Yeah,” Nick answered naturally, like it was obvious, and he wasn’t sure why Monroe was suddenly so focused on the matter. Why shouldn’t he have a girlfriend? No, he wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t a leper either. And surely he’d mentioned Juliette to the Blutbad before… even if only in passing. “I have a girlfriend. We live together. Have for a couple of years now.”  
  
Monroe leaned forward in his chair, suddenly eager and interested. He lowered his voice… almost like they were conspirators or discussing something taboo. “What is she?”  
  
Now Nick was the one who was becoming impatient. “She’s a vet, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything. For a guy who didn’t even want to let me in ten minutes ago….” Refocusing their conversation, Nick explained, “I can’t use Juliette’s card, because, again, it could be traced back to me. Plus, I don’t want this case anywhere near her.”  
  
“So, she’s _human_?” Annoyed by Monroe’s newfound tenacity and the direction in which Nick knew the Blutbad’s questions were heading, he simply widened his eyes and shook his head in answer. “Dude, that’s a bad idea.”  
  
“So I’ve already been told.”  
  
Monroe must have sensed his aggravation, because he reluctantly dropped the topic, though Nick had no doubt it would be revisited. And soon. “Even if I agree to this, as soon as the cop investigating the case of a dead woman last seen at this Bed and Breakfast shows up, the Ziegevolk will know you’re up to something.”  
  
“I’ve already taken care of that. He’ll think I’m there to get engaged, and having a friend book the room for me will just further the cover story of a surprise proposal.”  
  
“If you’re not involving your girlfriend, who the hell will he think you’re proposing to? Your hand?”  
  
When Nick decided that he would ask the Blutbad for a favor, he never anticipated the other man would show an interest in hearing his entire plan. Saying it out loud made it seem a hell of a lot more complicated than it had all been in his head. The complexity wasn’t enough to deter him, but he would feel more confident in it if Monroe didn’t sound so doubtful. And amused.  
  
“There’s this… person, this woman. She… owes me. A lot.” Nick shrugged, looked away. For some reason he either didn’t want to contemplate or didn’t understand, he didn’t want Monroe to know about _this_ part of his plan. “I guess you could say that I’m calling in one of those markers.”  
  
After carefully placing his cello and bow off to the side, a smirking Monroe sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “It’s Adalind.”  
  
“What,” Nick blustered. He wasn’t sure if he was denying his own transparency or the Blutbad’s smugness.  
  
“Adalind,” Monroe repeated, apparently refusing to show Nick any mercy. “You know, the lawyer, the Hexenbiest, the _legend_.”  
  
“Now, you’re just being ridiculous.”  
  
“I’m really not,” Monroe defended as Nick stood up and started to pace a tight line behind the chair he had just vacated. “I’ve known you for just a few _very long_ weeks now, but I’m not sure if we’ve ever had a conversation that didn’t revolve one way or another around your Hexenbiest, yet this is the first time I’m hearing about a live-in girlfriend.”  
  
“She’s not _my_ Hexenbiest.”  
  
“Maybe. Maybe not. But she’s a big part of your life - good or bad, whether you want to admit it or not. Are you sure you really want to be bringing her in on your cases now, too? Do you even trust her?”  
  
“Not as far as I can throw her,” Nick bit out.  
  
“Dude, you’re a Grimm now. You can throw her pretty far.”  
  
Monroe was right. Nick was a Grimm, and Adalind, Hexenbiest or not, was tiny. He _could_ toss her around if he wanted to - not that she wouldn’t fight back, but the idiom was more of a gut reaction and less of an accurate measurement of his feelings towards and faith in the lawyer at that point in their association. “It’s… complicated,” he finally admitted to Monroe. Without looking at the Blutbad, he stopped pacing and leaned against the back of his chair. “I trust in her desire to stay alive. I trust in her wits, in her knowledge of wesen ways and customs, in her intelligence. And I trust in her ability to protect herself. Everything else?” He looked up… only to be confronted with a very thoughtful, a very curious though silently so Monroe. “We’re… well, I guess you can say we’re working on it.  
  
“This case will be a good test for her. For both of us. She has information I want - about who she works for and who is coming after me, but she doesn’t trust me enough to tell me yet, and I don’t trust her not to manipulate me... let alone to actually have my back in the fight she claims is coming. So, for now, we’ll work together, and we’ll see if we can… figure out a way to move past what she did to my aunt and to me _and_ , you know, just our very natures. Luckily, the Ziegevolk didn’t recognize me as a Grimm, and her powers should make her strong enough to resist him and, if not, at least fight back.”  
  
Slowly, Monroe said, “ _right_.”  
  
Nick stood up straight, fisting his hands on his hips in challenge. “To which part?”  
  
“Just… all of it.” In perturbation, Nick tilted his head and glared. “ _Dude!_ ”  
  
Ignoring the censure, or the reprimand, or the admiration, or the… whatever it was the Blutbad was trying to express, Nick got back to the point. “So, will you book the room or not?”  
  
“I… will,” Monroe agreed slowly. “But I’m charging you interest.”  
  
“Oh, come on,” he exclaimed, reaching for his wallet. “I can give you the cash right now!”  
  
“Alright. Fine. No interest.” Monroe stood up, holding out a hand for the money. Nick placed it in the Blutbad’s grip. “But what about a commission?”  
  
He let go of the crisp bills he had just taken out of the ATM on the way over from the trailer. “You’re a horrible friend. And no.”  
  
“See, I don’t recall us actually having a discussion where we decided how to label this imbalanced interaction you’ve practically foisted upon me.”  
  
Nick was striding towards the front entrance as he said, “don’t you have a room to book and a cello to play?”  
  
“And don’t you have a fake girlfriend to propose to? I hope you splurged on the ring. Hexenbiests are notoriously… particular.”  
  
In response, Nick slammed the heavy wooden door behind him, its stained glass rattling slightly in its pane. 

**III.**

  
He got there early, driving his personal vehicle and parking outside to make sure he didn’t miss her. Despite not being on duty, he was prepared to use his badge if anyone complained about how long he sat there. Luckily, no one did. So, there he remained, waiting. Watching.  
  
And, great, not only was he now the judge, jury, and sometimes executioner of the wesen world, but, apparently, he was also a stalker… which, sadly, felt like a natural progression - or perhaps regression - in his life these days.  
  
Unlike when on stakeouts, he found that the time went by quickly, his mind otherwise too busy and preoccupied to notice the inactivity. Plus, the peaceful solitude was a reprieve after the sleepless night he had spent tossing and turning, debating if he was doing the right thing, if his plan was the right way to catch Capra, if there even was a right way anymore now that he was a Grimm. Those minutes he sat in the car felt like his quiet before the storm. But then she arrived, and he followed her inside, and the bell over the door was like a thunderclap announcing the tempest’s arrival.  
  
Too engrossed in her morning ritual, she failed to notice his presence, so he was able to sidle up behind her, bending down so as to discreetly whisper in her ear, “we need to talk.”  
  
She jumped slightly but, otherwise, didn’t react to him. Under her breath, Adalind whispered, “I thought I told you that we shouldn’t be seen together.”  
  
“And we’re not. We’re just two, random people, waiting in line for their morning caffeine fix.”  
  
Hissing, she demanded, “what do you want? What was so important that you decided it was a good idea to risk us being caught together? Do you have any idea how many lawyers from my firm also get their coffee here?”  
  
“Remember our deal,” Nick prompted her. Without waiting for confirmation, he proceeded to say, “well, I’m calling in my first mark.”  
  
Adalind casually perused the menu on the wall… as though she, just like everyone else in the world, didn’t have a certain drink that she ordered every day. “What do you want to know? What did you come across this time?”  
  
“A Ziegevolk,” Nick told her.  
  
His answer must have surprised her, because, forgetting who, and what, and where they were, she whirled around to look at him. “And, what, you can’t handle a Blue Beard on your own,” Adalind scoffed. She scorned. “They’re _goats_. How much more do you need to know?”  
  
“I’m not here for information.” She still didn’t turn back around, so he rushed to finish his explanation, wanting to see her reaction. “I actually need your help with a case. How do you feel about going undercover?”  
  
“What part of not being seen together and not being connected to one another do you not understand,” Adalind seethed before pivoting on her dangerously high and deadly sharp stilettos to once more face the counter. Her rich, red coat flared around her, a silent warning if Nick ever saw one.  
  
She was next in line to order, so Nick decided to get to the point, telling her as much as he could while he still could. “It’s off the books. No one will know about it. They can’t. Once we have the information I need, I’ll call it in as an anonymous tip, and it’ll be the suspect’s word against mine. And I’ve covered my tracks. The reservations are in a friend’s name - a friend no one at the department is aware of, and we’ll take taxis, so our cars can’t be traced.”  
  
Other than placing an order for a drink that was overly complicated - in fact, Nick was pretty sure she made up a few words just to test the barista or confound him – maybe both, Adalind didn’t say a thing. He, on the other hand, just asked for a plain, black cup of coffee. Even _that_ required explanation, though, because, apparently, you couldn’t just say what you wanted. Instead, you had to use the cafe’s trademarked vernacular. Then, on top of that frustration and all of her protests to his presence, Adalind added insult to injury and told the cashier that he was paying for both of their drinks… despite the fact that, of the two of them, she was the one wearing an outfit which probably cost more than most cars - certainly more than his.  
  
She was already striding towards the door when he caught up with her, his order somehow taking longer which was… concerning. Nick would have just tossed the coffee and settled for the precinct’s tar-like swill that he usually drank if he wasn’t in desperate need of the caffeine, his lack of sleep making itself known already despite the fact that he had a long day _and night_ awaiting him. With Adalind obviously unswayed by his assurances of circumspection and her promises of loyalty and favor, Nick tried one last tactic. “We think this guy is a serial rapist.” Her steps slowed, though she didn’t stop. “So far, here in Portland, one woman is dead, and there are three more missing, but we’ve connected him to seventeen other cases of kidnapping and rape. Fifteen of those cases resulted in pregnancies.”  
  
Finally, she stopped, and then she turned to face him where they were standing on the sidewalk. Her position was eerily similar to that from the day he first saw her, though there was no shy, flirtatious smile for Nick this time. “Hello, have _we_ met? I’m Adalind Schade, evil incarnate if you were to ask a certain detective I unfortunately know.” Before he could respond, she continued, “I may be a female, but I’m not a feminist. If those women were too weak to protect themselves against a Ziegevolk, then they were probably a lost cause anyway.”  
  
“They were humans, not wesen.”  
  
“Buy a gun. Take a self-defense class. Have some standards!”  
  
Becoming impatient with her insolence, Nick snapped, “you know it’s not that simple.”  
  
“No, what I know is that this is not what we agreed upon,” Adalind snapped, glaring at him. Other professionals surged around them on their way into and out of the coffee shop, but neither Nick nor Adalind paid their surroundings the attention they deserved. “Give me one good reason why I should do this.”  
  
“Besides the fact that it’s the right thing to do,” Nick scoffed.  
  
“Eventually, you’re going to realize that, in our world, right and wrong aren’t as clear cut as you believe, as you’d like for them to be. And I think we both know your right is definitely my wrong.”  
  
“Fine.” He took several steps closer to her, lowering his voice. “What about the fact that I saved your life, and we’re supposed to be learning how to trust one another so that you will tell me who you work for?”  
  
“I’m starting to think I made a mistake when I presented you with that offer.”  
  
“Well, it’s too late now.”  
  
“Fine,” Adalind snarled, glowering at him. “If you want to borrow my books, I’ll make you a library card. If you need a potion, I’ll start a fire. But you and I,” she motioned between them, “will not be going anywhere or doing anything together.”  
  
“Too bad the room has already been booked, and the suspect is expecting me and my girlfriend for a romantic, overnight proposal.”  
  
“Wait,” and Adalind physically held a hand up to ward off his response. She was grinning broadly, her mood morphing faster than her face when it woged. “What exactly do you want me to do, because, if it’s wear a diamond and consummate an engagement, I might be able to make an exception to our rules.”  
  
It always amazed Nick how quickly Adalind’s reactions towards him could shift, the duality of her nature. Hell, he was pretty sure she had mentally run the complete ‘Kill, Marry, Fuck’ gamut with him alone several times already during the course of their association. What was even more disconcerting was his own responses to her, especially when she flirted with him. Despite everything she had done to him and everything he knew her to be capable of, Nick found her physical appreciation and objectification to be gratifying; despite everything she had done to him and everything he knew her to be capable of, he couldn’t deny that she was an attractive woman. He’d say that her personality was a reflection of her rotting, corpse-like wesen, but Nick wasn’t sure if he had actually met the real Adalind yet. Between all of her defenses, and her lies, and her manipulations, and her ability to adapt to any and all situations, she was a chameleon.  
  
A poisonous one.  
  
“I don’t have probable cause for a warrant, but I know this Ziegevolk is guilty. If I can get inside and look around, I know I’ll be able to find the evidence I need. I can’t do that as Detective Burkhardt, but I _can_ do it as Nick Burkhardt, boyfriend and guy who is about to propose. Only… this isn’t an official undercover assignment, so I can’t get a female cop to pose as my to-be fiancée, and I can’t put anyone at risk. You can hold your own, and you owe me, so I need you to pose as my girlfriend. But there will be no wearing of diamonds, and there definitely will be no consummating.”  
  
Adalind took a drink of her coffee, grinning around the rim of the cup. “Buzzkill.”  
  
He ignored her. “So, will you help me or not?”  
  
For several moments, she observed him carefully. Closely. He wasn’t sure if she was looking for something from his expression to help her make up her mind, or if she was just drawing out the moment to keep him on edge. With anyone else, it most likely would have been the former, but, since this was Adalind, Nick was leaning more towards her simply taking advantage of an opportunity to torture him… even if just a little.  
  
“I’ll do it,” she finally answered. “But let the record show that I am only agreeing to this terrible plan of yours because, for once in your boring, do-gooder life, you, the straight-laced detective, are breaking the rules, and I need to see how that turns out. Call me curious.”  
  
“Let’s hope then that you’re like the cats you’re so fond of.” Nick didn’t know if she had a cat, but he’d read about her kind’s affinity for felines in one of his aunt’s books, and he knew Adalind would also be aware of the information.  
  
“Only if satisfaction brings me back as well. After all, I’m too pretty to die young.” She ran her lingering, leering gaze down his body before once more locking her blue eyes onto his own much darker gaze. “Will you be able to handle that, Nick?”  
  
Outright ignoring her, he redirected them back to practical matters. “Do you know the Bramble House?”  
  
“I was born and raised in Portland. Of course I know the Bramble House. Why?”  
  
“Meet me there tonight after work. And, remember, take a taxi.”  
  
He turned away and started back towards his car when he heard her call out behind him, “any requests for what I should… or shouldn’t pack, Nick?”  
  
His answer was the slamming of his door and the turning over of the Land Cruiser’s engine. Before he pulled away, though, he saw a grinning Adalind in his rearview mirror, laughing at his expense. Nick had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time either.


	2. Parts IV and V

**IV.**

Nick didn’t know what to do.  
  
For someone who had worked out every single detail of his plan to go undercover and find enough evidence to bring Billy Capra in, the one thing Nick hadn’t considered was that he was now going to have to sell being in love with another woman.   
  
And not just any woman. Oh, no! He had to convince his suspect that he was so in love with Adalind Schade that he was proposing to her.   
  
At first, Nick had been relieved to have a point of reference. He’d loved. Hell, he was _in love_ with Juliette. The ring he had with him was meant to be hers, because he wanted to propose and marry his long-time, live-in girlfriend. But Nick couldn’t treat Adalind like he did Juliette. What he was doing with the Hexenbiest that evening wasn’t cheating - of that he was confident, but it was dishonest, because Juliette had no idea of his… arrangement with Adalind, and, if he spoke to her, looked at her, touched her - even platonically - like he did his girlfriend, then that would make him feel disloyal, too.   
  
In all likelihood, he was panicking for nothing. The room was already paid for, and their cover story - staying at the Bed and Breakfast to get engaged - would demand privacy. If they played everything right, they’d only have to pretend around Capra for a few minutes. The problem was that Nick’s scene partner was _Adalind_. Anyone else and he wouldn’t be worried, but the two of them couldn’t be around each other for thirty seconds without bickering. Give them a few minutes, and they’d probably try to kill each other. Tempestuous passion was one thing, but murder?!   
  
Yeah… Nick was pretty sure the Ziegevolk would see through that.  
  
But then a cab was pulling up to the curb outside of the Bramble House, and Nick could see Adalind watching him from inside of the vehicle, a knowing, satisfied smile pulling up the corners of her mouth. He moved towards the car to open the door for her (that seemed like a soon-to-be fiancé thing to do), but Adalind was already there - helping herself, taking care of herself, and she was already talking, and, just like that, Nick was in the moment, his concerns all but forgotten.   
  
“Do you know what I think would help with your credibility?” A conversation with Adalind was enough to give him whiplash. If it wasn’t her pendulum moods - swinging from aggression to coquetry and then back again, it was her non sequiturs. “A five o’clock shadow, a little scruff.”  
  
He physically shook his head to clear away the confusion, but it failed to help. “What?”  
  
And then Adalind was standing up on her tiptoes and cupping his jaw, any personal space between them disappearing with the intimate gesture. “These cheeks are as sweet and slippery as a cherub’s bare wet ass.” She laughed then, obviously amused by and enjoying herself. “Nick, dealing with a Grimm is bad enough. No one wants to put up with a prepubescent Grimm. And this face?” This time, she actually tapped her fingers against him. “It’s the definition of a baby face.”  
  
The only thing he could think of as a response was, “for someone who’s supposed to hate me, you sure think about me a lot.”  
  
“Nick,” she chastised him playfully. “I don’t hate you. We’re dating. We’re in love. We’re getting engaged tonight.”  
  
He just sighed and stepped away from her, rounding towards the back of the cab to retrieve her luggage. “I’ll get your bags.”  
  
“What bags,” Adalind asked rhetorically. At the same time, she popped her shoulder out and indicated with a side tilt of her head the overnighter hanging on her sweater clad arm. If he wasn’t mistaken, women called them totes. “This is all I brought with me.” He’d thought it to be her purse.  
  
“That’s it?” He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or frightened by her light packing.  
  
“We’re not moving in, Nick; we’re here for the night. I went home and changed after work, and we’re here in this seemingly romantic setting about to be engaged. You do know what people typically do together to celebrate getting engaged, right?”  
  
“Yes, I’m aware.” He glared at her. “You do know that none of _that_ will be happening tonight, right?”  
  
“Just tonight?”  
  
“Ever,” he clarified. Was it just him, or had they already had this conversation just that morning? What was it with Adalind and her determination to bring up sex every single time they talked? Not that he was interested, but was she sincere, or did she just enjoy making him squirm?  
  
“Look,” she turned serious. The change in tone was a relief to Nick. “We both know exactly what this,” and she gestured between them, “is. Don’t worry, Detective, I have no interest in deflowering you.” Nick snorted - went to protest her judgement of him, but Adalind didn’t give him a chance to talk. “Plus, you’re the one insisting we remain anonymous - a dirty, little secret. I didn’t bring any kind of identification with me - no license, no credit cards, not even my cell phone.” Adalind paused long enough to bat her lashes at him. “I’m just trying to do what you want, Nick.”  
  
“Ha,” he barked out a harsh, unamused laugh. “There’s not a chance in hell of that _ever_ happening either!”  
  
She became serious once again, ignoring him. “If I showed up here tonight for a romantic evening with more than just an overnight bag, we’d be doing something wrong, and your suspect would become suspicious… of you.”  
  
Grudgingly, Nick had to admit to himself that she had a point, but he didn’t have to tell her that. The best he could offer her was, “do you want me to carry your bag for you?”  
  
“Thank you, but, no, I think I can handle it.” He went to step away and pick up his own small bag which was sitting on the sidewalk several steps away from them, but, before he could, Adalind spoke once more. “If you really want to do something for me, though, you could pay the nice cab driver. I’m sure he has better things to do with his night than listen to us… _banter_.”  
  
“Hey, you two can make eyes at each other all night for all I care. The meter’s still running, so I’m getting paid for this.”  
  
“Are you serious,” Nick asked her, frustrated by her behavior.  
  
Adalind laughed heartily, tossing back her head in amusement. At that precise moment, a light breeze stirred the air around them, and it made her softly curled locks - locks that were usually so harsh and straight - dance. The genuine joy and her more relaxed appearance in general made Adalind look softer, more approachable. She wasn’t any less beautiful or elegant, Nick grudgingly admitted to himself, but the woman standing before him in her jeans, and flats, with no expensive jewelry in sight was someone who he, as a detective, made more sense with. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have needed to take a cab ride tonight. I have a perfectly good car - hell, a perfectly good bed - at home, but you wanted me to sleep here with you tonight, and you insisted that I take a taxi, so pony up, Sweet Cheeks.”  
  
Reaching into his back pocket, Nick pulled out his wallet. After fishing out several bills, he handed them over to the driver who, for some reason, felt the need to offer a parting remark. “Good luck with that one! You have your hands full with her!” Before he could tell him _no such luck required, because_ he _didn’t have anything with Adalind,_ the cabbie drove off.   
  
Between Adalind’s behavior and attitude, the fare, and what felt like an attack on his honor, Nick’s mood, which had already been on edge, darkened and soured even more. As he and Adalind walked towards the B&B - each of them carrying their own bags, a distance far too great for two people supposedly in love separated them. Annoyed with the Hexenbiest and wanting her to feel the same resentment, Nick sought to impugn her ego. Adalind took great pride in knowing more about the Wesen world than he did, and she liked to rub that in his face and use it against him. Even if he couldn’t compete with her knowledge - yet, he could insinuate doubt in her and treat her as an incompetent… just as she treated him sometimes. The tactic would have the same effect… or so he believed.  
  
“Whatever you do, don’t let Capra touch you. The last thing we need is for you to be in his thrall.”  
  
Adalind paused in front of the stairs to the Bramble House’s front porch. She turned to face him, and she met his gaze evenly, no sign of irritation marring her features. “Then don’t give him a chance to touch me. I’m supposed to be yours, right? Well, then, mark me. Claim me. The Ziegevolk will stay away from me if you make him stay away from me.”  
  
He should have known that she’d take his insult and somehow turn it to her advantage. Nick wasn’t sure if it was the lawyer in her or the witch. Maybe both. But what really stung about Adalind’s calm response was the fact that she was right.   
  
So, Nick swallowed his pride, and he put a smile on his face. He wrapped his free arm around Adalind’s shoulders and pulled her into his side. He was surprised when she didn’t take advantage of their ruse to do something inappropriate and make him feel uncomfortable. Instead, she simply circled his own waist with her unoccupied arm, hooking two fingers in a belt loop on the opposite side of his jeans. She didn’t cop a feel, and she didn’t critique him or his hold on her. They walked up the stairs in tandem together, never missing a step. The entire chain of events was smooth, seemingly well practiced, and Nick decided it was safer for his peace of mind if he didn’t contemplate why exactly that was the case. After all, one unpleasant Wesen mystery was already one too many. That last thing Nick needed was to investigate his own questionable actions.   
  
There was no bell above the door, but the century Victorian still alerted its proprietor of their arrival with creaks and moans befitting a house of its age. “I’ll be right with you,” Billy Capra called out, and he was too true to his word for the Ziegevolk to have been doing anything of note for the case. He was talking as he rounded the doorway into the foyer, though his greeting came to an abrupt halt when his eyes landed on Nick. “Welcome to the Bramble…. Detective?”  
  
“Wait, you know each other? You’ve been here before?”   
  
Nick wasn’t sure what Adalind was trying to accomplish with her questions, but it was Capra who actually answered her, saving him from scrambling to catch up with the Hexenbiest and whatever game she was playing now. “Oh, no! It’s nothing like that. He just….”  
  
“Relax,” Adalind interrupted, smiling pleasantly at the suspect in reassurance before flashing a shockingly convincing look of adoration towards Nick. “I know he would never hurt me like that. He’s too loyal, too dependable, too devoted.” The man she described was exactly what she wanted to see from him _before_ she revealed who she worked for, Nick noted.  
  
It was that, _or_ she was describing a dog.   
  
Nick wasn’t sure which option he liked better. What he did know, however, was that everything Adalind said was to sell their cover story and make Billy Capra feel at ease with them. He should have known that she’d be a natural at such emotional manipulations. Normally, such a skill would be a character flaw, but, now that she was using it to his advantage, Nick couldn’t find it within himself to fault her. In fact, he appreciated the ability, because she was so good that she could drag his awkward and brittle self right along with her.   
  
“Hank and I stopped by here yesterday to ask Mr. Capra some routine questions about our latest case. When I saw the place, I thought you might like it. So, I had a friend book it under his name… so as to keep it a surprise.”  
  
“Oh, I see how it is,” she teased him, good-naturedly rolling her eyes. “You brought the work wife here first and then felt guilty. This is a pity date night.”  
  
Fawningly, the Ziegvolk simpered, “there could never be anything pitiful about you, Miss…?”  
  
But Adalind didn’t fall for the none too subtle hint, ignoring the request for her name. Somehow, she was neither rude nor obvious about it either. “Except my poker face. I can’t bluff to save my life. It’s so bad that Nick refuses to partner with me for game nights. It’s probably the scientist in me,” she reasoned with a self-deprecating shrug.   
  
As Nick and the suspect both chuckled politely at her remarks, he found himself wondering just how complicated of a backstory had she made up for herself? And had she been thinking about it all day, or was she able to come up with it on the fly? But a _scientist_?? _Really?!_ It was Capra, though, who voiced the question. “A scientist, huh? Does that mean you’re one of those crime scene techs we see on all those TV shows?” Was it just Nick or did Capra sound a little nervous?  
  
“Definitely not,” Adalind said with aplomb. “They have too many rules. I’m a chemist.” The best lies always contained as much truth as possible, and the Hexenbiest was being completely honest about her lack of respect for authority. Plus, Nick figured he could see the connection between potion making and a mad chemist.   
  
“I guess that’s why you two work so well together,” the Ziegevolk offered. Apparently, Adalind had put him at ease once more, because he was back to being his regular, ingratiating self. “You understand what physically attracts individuals to one another, and the Detective seems quite adept at reading people.”  
  
“We’re just a match made in heaven,” Adalind simpered.   
  
“Speaking of heaven, I’d love to give you a tour of the garden. It’s award winning. While beautiful at all times, I must admit that it is particularly enchanting at dusk.”  
  
He’d been quiet for a while, allowing Adalind to do most of the talking, but the last thing Nick wanted was to continue with their charade any longer than necessary. Plus, the point was to get access to the B&B and its grounds _without_ Capra there beside him. As he moved to turn down the offer, Nick looked over towards Adalind, wanting to silently remind her that they were there to do a job. “That’s nice of you to offer, but I think we’d just like to be alone.” What surprised him was that Adalind was right there with him, returning his look and obviously on the same page. Once more, it was concerning how well they worked together when they weren’t fighting. Or she wasn’t trying to kill him.   
  
“Of course,” Capra immediately agreed. His easy acquiescence made Nick wonder if the Ziegevolk had other, better plans of his own. “Let me just go outside and get your bags for you, and then I’ll show you to your room.”  
  
“There are no other bags,” Nick declined the service, nodding to just the two overnighters he and Adalind carried.  
  
Like they had known each other and been in a relationship for years, Adalind picked up the conversation’s thread right where Nick left off. “What you see is all we brought. So, if you could just give us our key, and point us in the right direction….” She wouldn’t be Adalind, though, if she didn’t get in at least one sexual innuendo. “Nick’s _very good_ at taking directions. I promise. We won’t get lost.”  
  
But, for once, it worked in his favor. It further supported their story that they were a couple blissfully in love and about to become engaged. It gave them an excuse to stay in their room the entire time they were there (as far as the suspect was concerned) and Capra an excuse to give them a wide berth. And it even made the Ziegevolk slightly uncomfortable, so he did exactly what Adalind asked, no objections.  
  
Two minutes later, they were safely in their room… or, well, as safe as a Hexenbiest and a Grimm working together could possibly be, the door locked securely behind them. 

**V.**

As soon as they were alone, Adalind went straight into the bathroom - not even stopping to put down her bag, and she had been in there ever since.   
  
Not that Nick was complaining!  
  
The break was nice… to say the least. It provided him with some quiet and calm to get himself recentered. As soon as she had stepped out of that cab, Nick had been distracted… which was something no one could afford. If he dropped his guard and Capra discovered why they were really there, Nick’s very career could be in jeopardy. Worse, if he failed to find the evidence he was there for, then who knew how many more women the Ziegevolk would kidnap and rape.   
  
So, while Adalind was doing god knows what in the bathroom (still not a complaint), Nick unpacked… the surveillance equipment he had _borrowed_ from the precinct. Their room didn’t provide him with views of the entire property, but, as luck would have it, it did overlook the garden - the one place it seemed like Capra took all his… conquests. If the suspect went anywhere, the tracking device Nick put on his car while waiting for Adalind to arrive would allow him to continue monitoring his behavior and movements, and, no matter what, eventually the Ziegevolk would have to go to sleep, right? When that happened, a wide awake Nick with too much on his mind (after proposing) to sleep could _innocently_ wander the property. If he happened to locate a broken window or anything else of note to the case, he’d be obligated to (anonymously) report it… just like any other, non-cop guest.   
  
Once everything was set up, Nick shrugged out of his coat and contemplated if he could get away with taking off his boots. On the one hand, it’d been a long day. After a sleepless night, he’d gotten up even earlier than normal so as to have time to corner Adalind at the cafe by her office. Then, like always, he and Hank had been tracking down leads all morning and afternoon. Besides coffee (which really didn’t count), Nick hadn’t put anything in his stomach since the night before. He was running on fumes, and the only way he’d manage to get something to eat was if Adalind had some snacks squirreled away in her tote.  
  
Too bad Nick was pretty sure food never touched Adalind’s way too expensive, leather bags. Hell, for that matter, he had a hard time imagining her eating anything besides bats, rats, and the souls of young children. He snorted out loud in amusement at his own thoughts… which were made even sweeter by picturing the Hexenbiest’s reaction. The abrupt noise in the otherwise silent room was almost enough to drown out the soft moans suddenly emanating from the en-suite.  
  
 _Almost._  
  
Nick stopped where he stood, his tired feet forgotten, and just… listened.   
  
She wasn’t?  
  
Right?  
  
She wouldn’t.  
  
Would she?  
  
This was an unsanctioned undercover operation. They weren’t actually there to enjoy themselves, and they certainly weren’t trying to draw further attention from the suspect. Yes, Nick had to grudgingly admit that Adalind had been great so far, but her role in their ruse was finished. She got him inside. That’s all he needed from her. So, the… _theatrics_ … weren’t appreciated. Or warranted.   
  
For a split second, Nick contemplated banging on the bathroom door and telling her to knock it the hell off. Luckily, he quickly changed his mind. Confronting the sounds Adalind was making would only encourage further conversation between them. No, willful ignorance was the route to go in this situation.   
  
At least that would have been the route until those quiet sounds became higher, fuller, longer. Just… _more_. The moans became whimpers, and the whimpers became pants, and grunts, and cries. As Adalind seemed to climb higher and higher, Nick found himself wandering closer and closer to the closed door between them. She was teetering on the edge, that thin, razor line sounding almost painful.   
  
A loud noise - flesh making contact with a wall perhaps… or maybe the side of the clawfoot tub - made Nick jump. Before he could adjust to his surprise, Adalind was whimpering his name, the vowel elongated and stretched until he could only imagine her burning lungs gave up and demanded a fresh breath, the last two letters coming rapidly and short after the first two seemed to just… float in the air between them. And then he heard a slight splash… like her body had been suspended in the air above the water just as her climax had been suspended - until it wasn’t, Adalind only collapsing back into the tub once her release washed through her.   
  
The sound of her panting… and the realization that, in all likelihood, Capra had heard everything Nick had just heard brought him back to himself, to the room, to the case. Real or not, he was afraid the sounds the Hexenbiest made would be with him long after that night, and he could only wonder in trepidation just when exactly they would come forth to haunt him. Would he be at work? Maybe he’d be alone in his aunt’s trailer, and, while not ideal, at least then he’d be in private. Or what if he suddenly heard Adalind reach orgasm while in bed with Juliette?   
  
It was this thought that was further souring his mood when Adalind reappeared in their room. Her hair was gathered in one of those perfectly messy but far from effortless buns on the top of her head - still dry even after her bath, and she’d changed again, putting on pajamas. “You know, we’re not actually here to enjoy ourselves,” he snapped… more angry at his own traitorous thoughts than he was at Adalind’s actions.   
  
“You’re welcome, by the way.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
After grabbing lotion from the bag she’d brought back out of the bathroom with her, Adalind answered, “there’s no way a Ziegevolk as potent as your suspect will be able to not do something after that performance.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re quite the actress,” he sniped.   
  
But Adalind just smirked, lifting her right leg and placing her foot against the mattress of their king sized bed. “Who said I was acting?” she queried with a challenging quirk of her brows before bending over her leg and applying moisturizer. It was then that Nick realized her Stanford crop tank had very deep arm holes, granting him, cursing him, with a generous view of the curve of her breast. Her braless breast.  
  
Swallowing thickly and unable to look away - he wanted to look away, but he just… couldn’t, Nick responded, “you mean you were…?”  
  
“Masturbating,” Adalind supplied for him. Without missing a beat or sparing him a glance - so, obviously, she wasn’t doing and saying these things to torture him… at least, Nick didn’t think she was, she switched legs before repeating the same massaging motions as she rubbed the cream into her pale, smooth skin. “We’re not twelve. It isn’t taboo. Or, at least, it shouldn’t be.” When she was finished, she stood back up to her full height… which wasn’t much, especially in bare feet, tossed the lotion bottle back into her bag, and then faced him with her hands on her hips. “As for whether or not I actually climaxed, the answer is yes. Even though choking out your name was probably the worst cock block ever, I was still able to get the job done. I take orgasms far too seriously to fake one.”  
  
“Ever?”  
  
“Faking an orgasm is a self-defeating prophecy, Nick. If you let a guy get away with a subpar performance but yet he thinks he got the job done, how will he ever get better? He’ll think he knows what he’s doing. There’s no lesson in that.”  
  
“And you’re all about the teachable moments, right?” He wasn’t sure why he was pursuing this line of conversation, but, for some reason, there was just something about Adalind that seemed to bring out the worst in him. She made him crazy, and impulsive, and he forgot who he was, who she was, and what they were or were not supposed to be doing.   
  
She just shrugged in response, apparently bored with their conversation. Reaching for her bag once more, Adalind removed a short, thin robe. Though she put it on over her shorts and tank, she didn’t tie it. He would have preferred footie pajamas and a straight jacket, but he’d take what he could get. “So, what are you going to do if, by the time we leave tomorrow morning, you have nothing on Capra?”  
  
“Oh, he’s guilty!”  
  
“That’s not what I’m asking, Nick,” she slightly scolded him. “If you don’t find any evidence, you can’t arrest him, and, if you don’t arrest him, it’s even more important that you maintain your cover story.”  
  
He shrugged. Really, he wasn’t worried about the scenario she was presenting, because Nick was convinced there was evidence somewhere in or around the Bramble House. He just needed the chance to find it. “We can just say that you turned me down.”  
  
“After _that_?” With her thumb hitched over her shoulder, Adalind indicated the bathroom from which she had emerged _victorious_ several minutes earlier. When he didn’t respond, she started to wander around the room, contemplating her own question. “I guess we can always say that you couldn’t afford a ring. After all, you’re just a detective.”  
  
“I might not make your kind of money, but I sure as hell can buy my girlfriend a ring,” Nick defended crossly.  
  
“Well, as long as Capra doesn’t know that….”  
  
“He knows there’s a ring. Hank told him.”  
  
“Wait,” she stopped her pacing. Tilting her head to the side, Adalind observed him closely. When that seemingly didn’t work, she advanced towards him. Nick found himself retreating from her, backing up, but, eventually, he ran out of space, and they ended up with his back against the wall and Adalind standing directly in front of him. “What?”  
  
“He likes to tease me about it, because I can’t figure out how to propose. But not all of us have as much practice in that area as Hank does,” Nick defended himself.   
  
Too bad he was purposefully avoiding what Adalind really wanted to know, and too bad he knew that she wouldn’t let him get away with it. “You told me there wasn’t a ring. Just this morning, you said that.”  
  
“No,” Nick argued, sliding around her and trying to put as much distance between them as he could. “I told you that you wouldn’t be wearing any diamonds.”  
  
“Semantics!”  
  
“Says the lawyer,” he quipped. Off her glower, he said, “look, I don’t see why any of this matters. I will get Capra one way or another, and my relationship with and the ring I bought for Juliette are none of your concern.”  
  
“Oh, it most certainly is my concern!”  
  
Returning her glare, he challenged, “how exactly do you figure that?”  
  
“Because she’s Kehrsite,” Adalind snapped. Though she kept her voice low, there was no mistaking the ire and derision lacing the soft tones. “You are _so_ not the whirlwind romance kind of guy, so that means you’ve been with this human for a long time. Seeing as how you only saw your first woge - me, I’m guessing - a few weeks ago, she certainly never tripped your trigger… so to speak, so there’s no way she’s wesen. And, because she’s Kehrsite, she’s a weakness for you. Weakness means vulnerability, and you getting killed by someone other than me at this point serves absolutely no purpose for me… not to mention the fact that our current arrangement would be a waste of my very valuable time and effort.”  
  
“Loving someone is never a weakness.”  
  
“It is when that love puts _both_ of you at risk.” When he didn’t say anything, she lobbed several rhetorical questions at him. “Has she noticed your strange behavior yet, your disappearances, your unexplained absences? What about the increased amount of blood on your clothes, the more violent cases you’re involved with now? Have you let her see your injuries; have you let her see how quickly you now heal from those injuries? Has she witnessed the violence for herself yet, because it’ll happen. It’s inevitable. Has she been targeted as a means to get to you? Has she been hurt because of you? When will you being a Grimm get her killed?”  
  
“You know, you should have asked a few questions before you tried to kill my Aunt Marie, because I think the two of you actually would have gotten along. She, too, thought she should have a say in my relationship with Juliette, and she also told me to break up with her.”  
  
“If she wouldn’t have had cancer, maybe I would have partnered up with her and sent a priest with a scalpel after you instead.”  
  
Since they had struck up their unorthodox and unholy alliance, they didn’t talk about the details of their recent past, but Adalind’s remark all but confirmed Nick’s suspicions that, not only had she attacked his Aunt personally, but she had also sent all of the others after Marie as well until, finally, someone had succeeded. “I’m only going to tell you this once: stay out of my personal life. I don’t like you, I don’t respect you, and I don’t trust you.” At least, he didn’t trust her in regards to anything besides her own instinct to survive. “So, I don’t care what you think about my relationship with Juliette.”  
  
“It’s your - or more likely her - funeral, Romeo, but whatever. Suit yourself.” With no more care than if they had been discussing the weather, Adalind, once more, returned to her overnight bag where it was laying on top of the still made bed. She sat on the edge, pulling out and putting on slippers.   
  
Retrieving something from his own bag which was situated on the desk by the door, Nick held the item out towards Adalind. “Here. Take this.”  
  
She didn’t lift a finger. Instead, a finely shaped brow was raised in disregard. “What is that?”  
  
“It’s a cell phone.”  
  
“No. It’s really not.” The amount of disdain dripping from her voice would have puddled on the hardwood floors if actually a liquid.  
  
“Fine. It’s a burner phone. You know, untraceable?” Impatiently, Nick waved it at her, but, still, she refused to take it. “It’s so we can communicate without anyone knowing about it.”  
  
“While I would normally appreciate your return to discretion after this morning, I cannot be seen with such an outdated piece of crap.” Smirking, Adalind added, “I’m an Apple loyalist.”  
  
“At least you’re loyal to something other than yourself,” he quipped under his breath. Apparently, she could still hear him, though, because metaphorical daggers were sent careening in his direction. Once again, Nick was grateful that she had packed lightly. After all, he wouldn’t have put it past her to bring weapons along otherwise. “Look, would you just take it?” When she wouldn’t, he dropped it down beside her on the bed. “Between you and Monroe, I’m going to go bankrupt.”  
  
“Who’s Monroe?”  
  
Waving off her question, Nick quickly and easily replied, “he’s a Blutbad who helps me with this Grimm stuff sometimes.”  
  
“Wait, there’s someone else who helps you,” Adalind asked, standing up. With hands clenched at her side and teeth gritted together, she continued, “there’s someone else who could have done this?”  
  
Without meeting her piercing, hostile, almost silver in its intensity gaze, Nick admitted, “he’s not always a willing participant.”  
  
“Story of your life, apparently!”  
  
“Plus, he’s a guy.”  
  
“So,” she argued petulantly.  
  
Nick decided to just ignore her. “Anyway, my point is that I cannot afford to buy you a new iPhone every time we work together on a case. As you pointed out earlier, I’m just a detective, and you don’t go into police work for the money. Plus, it’s not like this Grimm gig pays me anything either.”  
  
“Well, besides the satisfaction of my company and cosmic brownie points.” Adalind started sidling closer to him, and Nick immediately knew he would not like what came out of her mouth next. “But, if you’re looking for a little side _hustle…?_ ”  
  
“I’m going to get some rest while I still can.” Nick plopped down on the room’s sofa, knowing to leave the bed for Adalind… even if he was the one going to sleep. “It’ll be a few hours before Capra goes out. If he goes out. And it’ll be even longer until he goes to sleep. Wake me if there’s any movement.”  
  
“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”  
  
“Don’t know; don’t care. That’s your problem.”  
  
“Actually, no,” Adalind argued with him. But Nick’s eyes were already falling shut, and his breathing was evening out. With every word she said, Adalind’s voice got quieter and quieter, farther and farther away. “I’m only here because you all but deputized me but without any of the fun perks like handcuffs, guns of either and/or both the taser and glock varieties, or even a siren so I can drive as fast as I want anywhere I want. So, now, I’m bored. Are you even listening to me, Nick?”  
  
He wasn’t.  
  
The last thing he consciously remembered was emitting a fairly loud snore to which Adalind responded by hitting him in the head with a pillow. If he wasn’t so tired, he might have marveled at how easily he had been able to fall asleep, locked in the same room with a woman who, less than a month prior, could have killed him. But he was tired, so he didn’t marvel, and then he just… slept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Adalind is describing Nick's face/teasing him about being so clean shaven, she is quoting "Supernova" by Liz Phair... only Liz is talking about lips, and Adalind is taking about Nick's jaw and cheeks. Also, I forgot to include it with my post last week, but I have visuals up on my Pinterest board for this series. (See Parts I, II, and III for a link and more notes about this.)
> 
> Thanks,  
> Charlynn


	3. Parts VI, VII, and VIII

**VI.**

Monroe was inside of the bar, tailing and spying on the suspect; Adalind was doing god knows what to screw up his case and screw Nick over back at the suspect’s residence and place of business; and Nick was, well, he was doing absolutely nothing and feeling about as useless as a penny. His hail mary of a plan was working out just about as well as one of Hank’s many marriages.  
  
Maybe because Nick had to drive everywhere for his own job or because, if he had a car like the Ziegevolk’s, he would never leave home without it, for some reason, it had never occurred to Nick that his suspect might opt to walk if he left the B&B, rendering the tracking device he put on Capra’s car null and void. He should have known better, though. After all, it was Portland. But, because of this oversight, Nick had been forced to choose between following the suspect or taking advantage of his absence to search the inn. He chose the former and then ordered Adalind to nose around the Bramble House for the broken window on his behalf, though Nick didn’t for one second believe she would stick to his instructions and do what she was told. Letting a Hexenbiest loose on a house, however, seemed like the lesser of two evils compared to letting her loose on another person, Wesen or not.  
  
So, now, here he was just… waiting - waiting for Capra to do _something_ he could arrest him for; waiting for Monroe to actually say something useful; waiting for Adalind to… well, who the hell knew what she would do next; waiting to blow his own cover, get caught, and probably ruin his career.  
  
And he was the optimist of their extremely unorthodox, dysfunctional, conceived in the bowels of hell group!  
  
And then his phone rang.  
  
His _other_ phone. His burner phone. His _Adalind_ phone.  
  
Although Nick wasn’t expecting her to call him, he decided to blame his reaction - a disportionately large jump - on the fact that the loud tone was conspicuous and not because he had been startled. “What,” he answered tersely - no greeting, no warmth, tone muted though not quite a whisper. Nick briefly debated what he should do with Monroe on the other line before deciding to just listen to both Wesen talk at the same time and hope that his newly discovered dual nature would lend itself better to multitasking than his gender usually did.  
  
“That hooved freak has a nursing home kitsch sex dungeon in his basement… words that should _never_ be used together let alone in reference to a Ziegevolk.” Adalind was shuddering so hard in reaction to her pronouncement that Nick could _hear_ her through the phone connection.  
  
“Did you find the broken window… which, you know, was the _only_ thing I asked you to look for?”  
  
“Are you not listening to me, Nick? A. Sex. Dungeon. Complete with an elaborate hallucinogenic gas setup connected to his radiator system and women in dog cages! I tried to free them, opened the cages and everything, but they won’t leave. I don’t know if they’re too weak physically from the gas or too… Stockholmed.” Every time he tried to get a word in edgewise, Adalind just talked over him. “You need to get back here. No, you need to call for backup. These women… it’s bad, Nick.”  
  
How many times did he have to ask her…. “Did you find the window?”  
  
“Forget the damn window already!”  
  
“I need the window for probable cause, Adalind,” he reminded her… despite the fact that, of the two of them, _she_ was the lawyer. “Nothing else you found in the basement is admissible without it. Even with it, we’re on thin ice, because _you_ shouldn’t have found anything.”  
  
“Yes, I found the window,” she told him impatiently. He imagined her pacing back and forth in her agitation and annoyance, her robe trailing behind her like the proverbial witch’s cape, though white instead of black. “It’s in one of the guest bathrooms. He fixed it, but you can still tell that it was recently broken. And then I heard some _really_ strange and unsettling sounds coming from a grate in the floor, so I… wandered a bit.”  
  
There was something she wasn’t telling him. Maybe they hadn’t known each other long, but Nick felt like he had a pretty good understanding of who Adalind was… at least the _versions_ she presented to him. “Was the basement locked?”  
  
“Locked. Unlocked. When you’re a Hexenbiest, there’s really no difference.”  
  
He sighed, shook his head. When he lifted the hand that wasn’t holding his burner phone in order to pinch the bridge of his nose - he felt a tension/frustration (when dealing with Adalind Schade, really what was the difference?) migraine coming on, he remembered that he was also holding his actual cell phone, Monroe still providing a constant, running commentary on _The Adventures of a Ziegevolk on the Prowl_. “Just… get out. The last thing I need is for you to breathe in too much of that gas and still be there when the police arrive.”  
  
“I’m not an idiot, Nick. The gas is off - has been this whole time.” Her tone went from provoked to simpering in the span of a breath. “But your concern for my wellbeing is touching.”  
  
“I’m concerned about my case. And those women.”  
  
“Which is exactly why I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
“Aw, did someone find their humanity since I left,” he taunted her.  
  
“It has nothing to do with that,” Adalind snapped, though her adamant denial did little to convince Nick otherwise. “And everything to do with the fact that I refuse to allow your incompetence as a Grimm _and_ as a detective to prevent me from making sure that Ziegevolk gets exactly what he deserves. I’m going to make damn sure I didn’t do all of this for nothing whether that fits with your little plan or not.”  
  
He went to argue with her further, deciding that he would try another tactic - after all, Adalind was quite fond of her own skin, and Nick had no doubt that she would do anything to protect herself… even at or perhaps especially at the expense of others, and, by staying, she was putting herself at risk from Capra _and_ them at risk from the Wesen world finding out about their… partnership, but then, all of a sudden, the suspect was leaving the bar, and Monroe was staying, and Adalind was still in the basement with the Ziegevolk’s victims, and Nick was….  
  
Well, Nick was pretty much screwed.

**VII.**

It felt like one second he saw Adalind across the basement from him and then the next he was trapped in the sex dungeon… _no, the crime scene_ with her, the Ziegevolk having slammed the door behind Nick.  
  
“Now, look what you’ve done,” he accused her. Before Adalind could react to his (admittedly unfair - after all, he was the one who had derided her lack of empathy and then, when she finally showed some, he railed against her anyway) censure, Nick heard a whoosh, a strange smell tickling his nose but, thankfully, not impacting him at all. And then he was yelling at her again before he couldn’t stop himself. “I thought I told you to leave?”  
  
“And I thought I told you to eat shit and die, Grimm, but here you still are. Alive.”  
  
She _hadn’t_ actually said that to him… at least, not in so many words, but it seemed like the sentiment was the subtext for half of their conversations, the other half no subtext required, for she was plainly and pointedly propositioning him. Instead of actually saying as much, however, Nick chastised, “hey, you can’t talk about _that_ in front of… them,” and he nodded towards the three captive women.  
  
“Oh my god, they’re seriously a step _below_ drooling in their cornflakes, Nick. It’s fine.”  
  
“Well, they won’t always be. Plus, do you really think insulting me is the best use of our time when Capra has us locked in here, the gas turned ...”  
  
Only… they weren’t locked in the sex… _crime scene_ … any longer, and Adalind was ignoring him in favor of charging through the door she had just telekinetically opened and towards the Ziegevolk who obviously still had no idea who or what he was dealing with in the two of them, the gas now turned off, too. For a brief moment, Nick found himself frozen in the face of Adalind’s powers. They were awe _and_ fear inspiring. After all, if their unholy alliance didn’t work out, how in the hell was he supposed to stop someone who could control others, possibly even control him, with just her mind? Mixed in with trepidation was also a healthy helping of gratitude, because, if it wasn’t for Adalind and her refusal to listen to him - _ever!_ , then they’d still be trapped with no means of escape or ways to help the three caged victims, and his suspect would assuredly get away. With all that said, though…. “Adalind, stop! You can’t kill him!”  
  
“I most certainly can!”  
  
Seriously. If she would listen to him _just once_ \- do what he asked (told) and not argue with him about everything…. “I’m not doubting your abilities,” he explained with a tired sigh. “I just… I don’t recommend it.”  
  
Without losing her mental grip on Capra - an invisible hand held him up off of the ground, by the neck, and was very quickly choking the life out of Nick’s suspect, Adalind turned around and smirked at him. “I think between the two of us, I’ll trust my lifetime of Wesen instincts over your two weeks of experience. Thanks anyway.” She went back to the Ziegevolk, redoubling her efforts. Capra could no longer wheeze and cough around her grip, and his eyes were starting to roll towards the back of his head.  
  
“Wait,” Nick called out. While Adalind didn’t stop, she also didn’t finish the Ziegevolk off either - a small victory. If he knew her at all, there was only one way that he’d be able to get through to the Hexenbiest. “It’s already bad enough that his victims saw you, but, if we want to get out of this without the entire city of Portland knowing that you were here with me, then they can’t see you kill him, Adalind.” Capra was still dangling from the air, and he was clawing at his red and purple throat, but he was also breathing once again. “You need to leave the suspect to me, trust me to take care of this, and go - pack your stuff and get out of here. I already called for backup. Hank and a whole squadron of patrol officers and EMTs will be here any minute now.”  
  
The only response Nick received was the breaking of a bone. He gasped, rushed forward to stop her, though his efforts would have been too little, too late… if Adalind had snapped Capra’s neck. Instead, she simply dropped him to the floor with enough force to fracture one of his legs, the Ziegevolk screaming out in both pain and a reassurance of life. Hands fisted on hips, Adalind whirled around to confront Nick. “I want the record to show that I didn’t do this, didn’t let that slime live, for you. Or for your Patty Hearsts over there.” She nodded towards the three caged women, Nick’s three witnesses. “As far as they’re aware, I’m dressed all in white, I’m pale, and I have blonde hair. They’ll probably say a guardian angel saved them.”  
  
“Well, they are drugged.” Without deigning to acknowledge his dig, Adalind pivoted on her slippered heels and started to march out of the basement and up the stairs. “Besides, with you, it’d be more like the devil,” Nick groused under his breath.  
  
Apparently, however, he wasn’t the only one with enhanced senses. “I heard that,” Adalind yelled at him. “And the devil is still angelic, still _divine_ ; just fallen.”  
  
Why did it feel like she was describing not just herself but the both of them, together? 

**VIII.  
  
** The suspect had been arrested and was seeking medical attention for his broken leg - how Nick was going to explain that away, he wasn’t sure… perhaps Capra fell down the stairs in his haste to escape?, the victims had all been coaxed from their cages and were also being seen to, and Hank was detailing all of the evidence the crime scene techs had discovered so far, but Nick was only half paying attention to his partner.  
  
Okay, so _half_ was being quite generous. It was more like… twenty percent if he was being honest. But what other option did he have? While he kept his gaze fully engaged on Hank, the rest of his senses, particularly his Grimm-enhanced hearing, were fully occupied by a meeting that would surely prove to be his undoing: apparently, after drinking away all of the money Nick had given him, Monroe decided it was a good idea to follow the sights and sounds of all the police and EMT sirens like a moth to a flame… _only_ it would be Nick who would, no doubt, be burned. Because, while Hank talked on, apparently unrecognizing of Nick’s distraction, Monroe approached a concealed yet still very much present Adalind, the two of them chit-chatting on the other side of the street behind some shrubbery like busybody spinsters.  
  
 _“So, you’re Nick’s Hexenbiest, huh? Adalind.”  
  
“I’m not the Grimm’s anything. Blutbad.”_  
  
Nick could hear the note of derision in Adalind’s voice from a dozen yards away, but Monroe didn’t seem to mind the scorn. In fact, the Blutbad seemed to be amused by it.  
  
 _“So, what’s it like being engaged to Detective Burkhardt?”  
  
“Ha! That would _never _happen!”  
  
“Eh, I don’t know. I could see the two of you together.”  
  
“In the immortal words of Jane Austen’s titular Emma, ‘ugh, as if!’”  
  
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Emma never said that.”  
  
“Fine. Cher Herowitz said it. Same thing.”  
  
“At least you make more sense with him than his current girlfriend.”  
  
“_Do not _even get me started on_ that _! A Grimm and a Kehrseite? I already read him the riot act about her, but do you think he would listen to me? Of course not! Like his trailer of torture and dusty tomes is worth more than my lifetime of Wesen knowledge, the egotistical, shortsighted, pompous ...”  
  
_ While he had no doubt that Adalind could go on for hours listing all of his many… virtues, Nick was dragged back to his more immediate surroundings by Hank, hands on hips and brow furrowed, observing him closely, asking, “are you even listening to me, man?”  
  
“What? Yes. Of course,” Nick denied and defended.  
  
But Hank didn’t seem convinced. “How did you get here so quickly, anyway?”  
  
“Oh, I was out canvassing the neighborhood - asking around all the local bars, seeing if anyone ever remembered Capra acting strangely, doing or saying something suspicious while out with a woman. You know, the usual stuff.” At least, for this, his planned cover story would still work. Adalind hadn’t managed to screw that up as well. “When the anonymous tip about the recently broken window and the strange noises came in, I was just up the road.”  
  
“Right,” Hank said slowly, hesitantly. Obviously, he wasn’t completely buying Nick’s story. “And all that yesterday about coming here to propose?”  
  
Nick shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess… the more I thought about it, the less I liked the idea and the more I just couldn’t let go of Capra as a suspect. There was just something about the guy, you know?”  
  
Hank nodded, apparently appeased, though he had been fooled by Capra the entire time, his human nature susceptible to the Ziegevolk’s… charms. “Well, we’ll have to wait for the test results from the hospital, but, dollars to donuts, I’d bet all three of those women are pregnant. You can’t get any more solid proof than that against Capra.”  
  
“We’re cops, Hank. I’m not sure if ‘dollars to donuts’ is the best ...”  
  
The sound of shattering glass ripped the night air, interrupting Nick and immediately pulling both his and Hank’s attention towards the caravan of ambulances. What they found was Capra’s still and lifeless face protruding from one of the back doors’ windows, blood from his severed carotid streaming down the side of the wagon to drop and then puddle on the street below. Hank reacted first, running towards their now dead suspect, while Nick lagged behind, his attention once more arrested by the two _bystanders_ oh so casually discussing what they had just _witnessed_.  
  
 _“Oh, Nick’s not going to like that!”  
  
“Too bad! It had to be done.”  
  
“Yeah, but, still …”  
  
“No, no buts. That Ziegevolk had already convinced the EMT to uncuff him. Give him ten more minutes on the drive to the hospital, and she would have been over here collecting rare frogs for him. And he’d pull the same creepy crap with the lawyers, with the judge, with the jury, with the correctional officers… if his case even went that far which I highly doubt. He never would have served actual time, and he would have been back at it again, raping and impregnating women all over the country. You know it, I know it, and Nick would know it, too, if he would actually listen to Wesen who know better than him. He was right when he said I couldn’t kill the Ziegevolk inside, because I couldn’t be connected to the case, and I cannot be connected to him. But I’m right about this.”  
  
_Although he would never admit it to Adalind, Nick admitted to himself that she wasn’t wrong even before he wandered over just in time to hear the paramedic tell Hank that she didn’t understand why Mr. Capra committed suicide. _He had everything going for him, his whole future waiting for him - love, a family, personal and professional success_. Despite this, he resented Adalind’s actions anyway. He didn’t like the fact that, because of his family’s secrets, he was starting so far behind the curve when it came to this Grimm stuff. It was a hard and bitter pill to swallow to realize that he wasn’t the star student, the star beat cop, the star detective any longer; Adalind was. Plus, on top of everything else, the paperwork on this particular case was going to be a bitch!  
  
Slowly but surely, the crime scene started to thin out, the ambulances taking the victims to the hospital for further treatment, testing, and observation and the now deceased suspect to the morgue. Hank seemed to sense Nick’s less than approachable mood and meandered over to discuss the latest developments with Wu instead, leaving him finally, blissfully alone… or as alone as one could be with a feisty Hexenbiest and cantankerous Blutbad bickering within Grimm ear shot.  
  
For a moment, he contemplated approaching them so as to perhaps stymie their rapidly developing rapport. But, despite his fear as to what kind of trouble the two of them could get into together, especially if they ganged up on him, Nick decided against such a preventative gesture - not only because he might draw attention towards their presence but also because, if he was completely honest with himself, uncomfortable though it may be, a productive working relationship between his only two Wesen allies (if one could call Adalind and Monroe allies) could only prove useful to Nick… just as, apparently, eavesdropping was as well. (However, given their far superior knowledge of Grimms, they probably knew he could hear everything they said and were saying it anyway or even intentionally so he would listen to them.)  
  
 _“So, I should, uh, probably get home.”  
  
“No one here is stopping you, Blutbad.”  
  
_Though Adalind’s words were hostile, it was obvious that some, if not all, of her vitriol towards Monroe was feigned. And Nick wasn’t the only one to realize that.  
  
 _“Before I go, though …”  
  
“Yes, what is it now?”  
  
_Their voices started to fade slightly. Nick risked discovery and hazarded a glance in their direction, realizing that Adalind and Monroe had started walking off towards Capra’s preferred bar and hunting grounds, towards where Monroe had parked his car. Briefly, he found himself wondering if Monroe would give Adalind a ride home and resenting the fact that, despite the near constant harassment they offered him, he wouldn’t be leaving with them. It wasn’t necessarily that he enjoyed their company - in the Hexenbiest’s case, far from it, in fact; he just… he didn’t feel like he belonged in his own life anymore, and the closest he came to that sense of acceptance and kinship was when he was arguing with Adalind or pestering Monroe into helping him with a case.  
  
 _“Just… how ugly is it all going to get around here?”  
  
“You mean where the fight for the Grimm is concerned?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’d say it’ll be uglier than your sweater, and that thing is hideous.”  
  
“Hey!”  
  
“In all seriousness, the word on the street is that there’s a Reaper in town.”  
  
_Monroe whistled, and then their voices faded into obscurity, the distance separating them from Nick evidently more than even his Grimm hearing could detect. But he’d heard enough. While Adalind’s last revelation left Nick once more with more questions than answers, the name alone - a Reaper - told him Portland’s latest _tourist_ posed a threat. But he’d worry about that later. For now, he needed to get the hell away from the Bramble House, find some food, and grab some sleep before Wesen problems were the least of his concern, exhaustion doing him in before his, apparently, many enemies could.  
  
As Nick waved off Hank’s offer of a ride back to his vehicle - after all, to avoid detection, he and Adalind had taken cabs to the B&B, so there was no vehicle to return to… at least not anywhere near that particular neighborhood, Nick headed down the street with the intention of flagging a taxi as soon as he was out of sight. He’d have the cab drop him off back at the house. Though he’d seriously consider manslaughter in exchange for a shower, going inside would just wake Juliette and arouse her suspicion when he turned right back around and left again. Luckily, he’d taken some clothes out to the trailer, so he’d drive out there, do some research into Reapers, and catch a few hours of sleep before getting up in the morning, heading to the station, showering there, and then starting everything all over again.  
  
He could have saved himself the time, effort, and aggravation by just calling Adalind and asking her about Reapers, though talking to Adalind was its own kind of aggravation, but Nick decided against requesting her help again so soon. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her to tell him the truth. In fact, if he had learned nothing else about her during their little… excursion that evening, it was that she was unflinchingly, uncomfortably honest. Oh, she was still the same self-serving, narcissistic pain in his ass that she’d always been, but, even when she was scheming and plotting against him, Adalind was upfront about her actions. She might cage the truth in coquetry and sarcasm, but she knew exactly who she was and what she wanted, and damn anyone and anything that stood in her way… including Nick. It wasn’t much, and he wasn’t sure if he was any closer to prying the name of the person she worked for from her, but his faith in her veracity was at least a start.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to see some visuals that go along with this story, please visit my (oyCharlynnRose) Pinterest sub-board Mutually Assured... under the board A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words - Fic Visuals. https://www.pinterest.com/oycharlynnrose/a-picture-is-worth-a-thousand-words-fic-visuals/mutually-assured-series/ Be warned: I do work ahead, so teeny-tiny spoilers.


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